I said, "no". And she asked, "why?" And I told her, "I don't want you to ruin them before I even get to wear them."
And she asked, "why?"
I didn't have the time to explain that I felt I deserved to wear them for the first time - damage free.
And, I didn't have the heart to tell her that with those sparkly Badgley Mischkas comes much more responsibility than she could possibly understand.
I would have to tell her that those shoes come with a job ... nay ... a career attached to them.
I would say that I must drive to and from meetings in the city, in my minivan on conference calls while pumping and doing my makeup so I can wear those shoes.
I would explain how desperately I try to wrap up my work work day by 5:30 so I can send the nanny home and be truly present while getting the little ones fed and bathed, so daddy can get some quality time in before putting Lei to bed.
Those shoes come with a tremendous amount of concern over bumps, bruises, choking, cavities, sunburns and bug bites and excessive fear of the day my kids will be old enough to drive a car.
Those shoes come with mortgages and retirement accounts and a roof that needs fixing and a garage that needs rebuilding and condo tenants in need of a brand new dishwasher because they somehow managed to break the one we have.
Those shoes ignore my husband sometimes and that isn't fair.
I suppose I could have couched my denial of her request in terms that she'd somewhat understand - such as, "Those shoes are worth a thousand poopy diaper changes and hundreds of 2 a.m. feedings." But it wouldn't have mattered. She really really wanted to try them on.
Admittedly, tied to those shoes is a strong desire to be more fashionable than I actually am at this phase of my mommy life. The shoes do help that cause. I swear.
I still need to lose the baby weight I packed on with Mairin and those five inch heels make me look two pounds thinner than my four inch heels. Somehow, five minus four equals two in this instance.
I need those shoes.
And they need me.
And I promise you, those are the ridiculous things that went through my mind when she begged and pleaded and whined until I let her try them on.
She struggled a few smiling, shuffling steps on her tippy toes in those shoes and then gingerly stepped out.
She assured me, "These are too hard mama. These are your shoes."
I smiled and nodded and said "no shit" to myself. Someday I will explain the whole thing to her.